My Foreign Language
by L J Groundwater
Summary: JD tries to bond with Doctor Cox, much to Cox's annoyance. Carla and Elliot worry about about their bodies being less than perfect, and Turk just can't seem to get out of the line of fire. Please read and review my first Scrubs fic!
1. Chapter 1

No ownership of the Scrubs characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Storyline and text copyright L J Groundwater.

Enjoy the opening tag… this story takes place in the middle of season three.

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_As jaded as it sounds, you get used to hearing people softening the truth when they talk. Nobody wants to admit when they don't know something… or to deliver bad news._

Doctor Elliot Reid stands at her patient's bedside and says, "We're going to conduct a comprehensive battery of tests so we can get to the bottom of this very soon, Mr. Griffith."

Surgeon Christopher Turk looks into the accusing eyes of the love of his life, Nurse Carla Espinosa, and with his eyes wide and innocent, says in a voice an octave higher than normal, "No, baby! I wasn't eyeballing her goodies!"

Doctor Perry Cox turns to Doctor Robert Kelso, smiling with as many teeth as it's possible to show, and chuckles, "Why, you know for sure, Bobbo, that there's nothing I like better than spending a Saturday night watching people throw up all over my shoes."

The Janitor leans on his mop, grimacing, and frowns at John Dorian. "You're an idiot. I'm gonna have to take you down."

_What they say rarely has anything to do with what they mean._

Elliot stands at her patient's bedside, the same as she has previously, and says, "I'm ordering about fifty tests, Mr. Griffith, because I have no idea why you keep going to sleep when your wife's talking to you about sex! I mean I've never _heard _of such a thing. My experience with men—well, limited as it is to, well, you know—well, I mean, not _limited_ totally, but well, what I mean is that when someone even _whispers_ the word—" She swallows as though to prepare herself to say the word—"'sex' that a man not only doesn't fall asleep, but he completely wakes up, and when I say _wake up_, I mean..."

Turk's eyes remain innocent as he looks at Carla and says, "I never thought you'd be standing right behind me, baby, when I was fantasizing about being in the valley of those mountains! But I was fast enough to wipe the drool away from the corner of my mouth, so you _have_ to believe me because you have no evidence whatsoever to convict your cuddly bear with!"

Doctor Cox continues smiling broadly at the Chief of Medicine and says, "If it weren't for the fact that you hold my life—nay, _my life's blood_—in your pudgy little hands, Bobbo, I'd be telling you to take that stethoscope you like to hang around your neck and pretend that you're even _remotely_ interested in what happens in this hospital to patients who don't have the highest level of insurance cover available—or the right asses to kiss— and shove it into an orifice where even your father, the Prince of Darkness, would fear to tread. But seeing as I can't do that, I have to resign myself to the fact that I'm doomed to watch a bunch of winos and drugged-up party guys and gals come stumbling in here at all hours of the God-forsaken night and just pray-hay-_hay_ that I don't have to treat anyone who feels the need to give me a _noogie _or tousles my hair and tells me they love me, whoever I am—or, even worse, I might see someone from that group that my evil but oh-so-demonic ex-wife Jordan likes to call her _mothers' network_ but whatI _know_ is a witches' coven masquerading as a playgroup. So consider yourself lucky, Bobbo, because if it weren't for the power that you wield in that hollow frame of yours, you'd be hearing your heartbeat echoing out of your ass." Doctor Cox smiles again, then turns and walks away, still muttering to himself as he heads down the hall. "A dream come true, this night of nights. I could be watching the basketball game, but this is so-_ho_ much more exciting to me. _Score!_ The beer can ricochets nicely off Laverne's head and straight into the trash can for three points..." His voice changes to make crowd cheering noises as he disappears around a corner.

The Janitor leans on his mop, grimacing, and frowns at John Dorian. "You're an idiot. I'm gonna have to take you down."

_I said rarely._


	2. Chapter 2

No ownership of the _Scrubs_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text and storyline L J Groundwater.

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_Because medicine can be so complex, it's really important not to be afraid to ask for help if you need it._

Elliot watches as Doctor Cox walks by her brusquely, his face buried in a chart and doing his utmost to completely ignore her and everyone else around her. Elliot puts her hand out as if to hail him and is greeted with a simple, passing, "Nnnn-_o_!" from the Director of Residents as he continues around the corner. Deflated, Elliot blows out a breath that raises her blonde bangs before she turns back to the nurses' station and slumps on the counter.

"So much for _that_," she concludes dejectedly. "I wanted to ask Doctor Cox about my patient."

JD turns and looks at her, puzzled. "Why didn't you just speak up?"

"JD!" Elliot whines, as though her coworker had the mentality of a six year old child. "He didn't even _look_ at me!"

"Doctor Cox _never_ looks at you!" JD reminds her.

Elliot huffs out another breath. "I know, and it's _so_ frustrating!"

"Elliot, you can't be afraid to ask for help. Doctor Cox is just a man, like any other man." _Only taller… and maybe a bit scarier…_ JD brings his mind back to the present. "You don't see _me_ shying away from him."

Carla, who's been observing this exchange while she scribbles in some files, decides it's time to speak up. "Oh, come on, Bambi—just because you like to be kicked all the time doesn't mean that Elliot does."

JD straightens in self-defense. "Doctor Cox doesn't kick me," he protests. _Okay, maybe just that once…_ "He's just a really busy man. But I bet if you ask him, he'd make time."

JD pictures Doctor Cox as a big sash-sweatered, bespectacled man standing slightly hunched over in the doctor's lounge, beckoning for the timid residents to move in closer. "Come on, kids," he says, his voice pleasant but hoarse from overuse; "I'll do whatever I can for you. You, JD," he says. JD points to himself, startled. "Come here, son, your shoelace is untied. Let Doctor Cox help you with that while you tell him all about your toughest case."

JD steps forward, content, and lets Doctor Cox bend over and tie his shoe. He starts to tell him about the trouble he's having getting a proper diagnosis on the woman who's throwing up all the time in room 412.

"I'm glad I buy tie-ups instead of Velcro…" he mutters back in reality. A strange look from Carla, though never a surprise, brings JD back to the present. "Besides, I thought you and Doctor Cox were friends."

"We are," Carla replies. "But I'm not an idiot—the man has _issues_!"

"Well, I'm not afraid to talk to him," JD insists.

"Fine. Then why don't _you_ ask him about Elliot's patient?" Carla challenges.

JD reacts as though he's been hit. The thought of it makes his stomach turn. He looks in what he hopes is a condescending way at Carla. "Doctors need to be able to discuss things professionally with their colleagues. If I talked to Doctor Cox about Elliot's patient, I'd only be perpetuating the impression that she's a whiny little rich girl who can't fight her own battles!"

"Who says I'm like that?" Elliot gasps, horrified.

JD thinks back to a time that he was trying to impress another doctor over drinks, when he laughingly, knowingly says, "She needs me, you know. She'd be _lost_ without me. She's a whiny little rich girl who can't fight her own battles." Now, JD smiles an I'm-not-guilty-don't-look-at-me-that-way smile and says, "I don't know—I've just heard it around."

"I'm not afraid of Doctor Cox," Elliot announces determinedly. She picks up her patient's chart and looks at JD and Carla. "I'm going to track him down _right now_."

JD and Carla exchange knowing, and worried, looks, and watch as Elliot heads off after Doctor Cox.

Elliot catches up with Cox as he's exiting a patient's room. "Doctor Cox—"

"I said _no_, Barbie," Cox reminds her, brushing past her and heading down the hall toward the supply closet.

"But Doctor Cox, I really need your help," Elliot persists. "I can't figure out what's wrong with Mr. Griffith."

"That's the… sleep guy?" Cox asks, still not looking at her as he opens the closet door.

"Yeah," Elliot answers. Then she starts rambling. "I just can't figure out what's going on! I mean, he's not taking any medication so it's not a drug interaction. Then I thought maybe it's something terrible, like colorectal cancer, because that's one of the symptoms, you know—extreme tiredness. But then I thought no, he's not showing any other symptoms, because I made _sure _I checked his poo…. And then I thought maybe narcolepsy, because the guy, you know, falls asleep at the drop of a hat whenever his wife even _begins_ to talk about—"

"I may join him if you keep droning on and on, Barbie," Cox says, picking out the last of the supplies he needs before turning around and squeezing past Elliot and out of the closet.

"But I don't know what's going on!" Elliot counters. "He told me that he was fine until about two months ago, and then all of a sudden—_poof! _Snore… when his wife starts getting… frisky… he just can't stay up!" Elliot has a stray thought and snorts a quick laugh. "Maybe because he can't stay up!" She giggles again. Then her eyes widen and she blocks Cox's way as he tries desperately to get around her. "Maybe that's it! Maybe he's having erectile dysfunction!" She smiles widely and jumps a little jump of triumph.

"Glad to see you so pleased about _that_, Doctor Compassion," Cox answers, still dodging unsuccessfully.

"Oh," Elliot remembers, disappointed, "no, that isn't it. He got all… _perky_ when Nurse Balloon Boobs walked into the room this morning. You couldn't miss it. Nearly poked her eye out when she was taking his blood pressure, which, coincidentally, or maybe _not_ so coincidentally, was pretty high at the time."

Doctor Cox finally stands still and faces Elliot, his expression unreadable. "Look, Barbie, taking for granted that you've probably tested your patient for everything from African Trypanosomiasis to just staying up _too darned late_ at night watching Jay Leno—though who of us hasn't been guilty of _that_ cardinal sin—I've gotta tell you that this may be the first—nay, the _only_—time I'll say this: you might notice that when you think things through without jumping to conclusions that you could save yourself and your patient a lot of heartache and unnecessary poking and prodding if you'd listen to what he says."

Cox stops and watches for Elliot's reaction. Doctor Reid considers the senior doctor's statement and frowns. "I haven't tested him for African Trypanosomiasis. Should I?"

Cox rolls his eyes up to the heavens and shakes his head as he finally makes his way around this thorn in his side. "Ya could," he says as he retreats back down the hall. "But bearing in mind that he would have to have been bitten by a tsetse fly to contract it, you might want to take a look at that infected bite you haven't found yet _because it isn't there_, then ask him some trivia questions about his trip to Kenya and Uganda first and actually _listen_ to the answers. God knows, Barbie, that that would be a major miracle on its own because you sure don't listen to me…. All that plastic hair lying over those tiny little flat ears of yours is making it totally impossible for you to understand a word anyone says…"

Elliot, who's been following Cox and hanging on his every word, stops suddenly, self-conscious, and flattens her hair down over her ears. She heads back to the nurses' station, where Todd has appeared and is hanging over the desk. Ignoring him, she looks at Laverne. "Are my ears flat?" she asks.

"Compared to what?" Nurse Roberts answers flatly.

"Ohmigod, they _are_!" Elliot cringes. She begins trying to push her ears so they stick out more.

"Don't do that," Todd suggests. Elliot looks at the surgeon questioningly. "Bend over at the waist. Go on," he urges, when Elliot hesitates.

Elliot shoots a final look at Todd, then follows his direction. Todd admires her appreciatively as she asks, "Is that better? Do they stick out more?"

Todd nods as a sly smile crosses his face. "Yee-_aaaaaaaaaah_. Your boobies protrude _much_ better through those scrubs than they did before. Pointy five!" he offers, holding his hand out where Elliot can see it.

Elliot, aghast, straightens immediately and, unable to come up with a sharp retort, huffs past him and away.

"It was nice while it lasted," the Todd says, disappointed.

Laverne shrugs. "Her ears were still flat."


	3. Chapter 3

No ownership of the _Scrubs_ characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended. Copyright text, storyline and original characters belongs to LJ Groundwater.

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Carla stands in front of the sofa where her fiancé is sitting after a long day at the hospital and says, "What do you think of this sweater?"

"Don't do it, brother," JD says from beside Turk. "You know there's no safe answer to this one."

Turk smiles. "I've got it all under control, man." He looks up at Carla, notes her worried face, and announces, "It looks great on you, baby!"

Carla's face crumbles. "I knew it!" she says.

_**I**__ knew it,_ JD says to himself.

"What is it, baby?" Turk asks, confused.

"You like this sweater on me because it makes my boobs look bigger. You really _do_ like women with big breasts!"

"But baby, your lovelies are just fine!" Turk protests.

"Yeah—for _mosquito bites_!" Carla exclaims. Then she hurries out of the room and shuts the bedroom door behind her.

Turk shakes his head. "I don't get it," he declares. "I _always_ tell her she looks great in sweaters!"

JD nods. "Yeah, but now she knows why."

Turk thinks about it, nods, then worries.

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"I can't believe Doctor Cox said my ears are flat!" Elliot whines.

"Well, that's better than being told that your boobs are like _pancakes_," Carla replies. "I really thought that I could give Turk _everything_, but it turns out that I don't _have_everything."

"I worked really hard as a kid not to be different from all the other kids—I mean, I was different, of course, but I mean I didn't want to _look_ different. Aside from not wearing those white go-go boots that everyone was wearing."

"Didn't like them?"

"No; couldn't get any that were long enough. I didn't want anyone to see my knobbly knees." Elliot grows more distressed. "Ohmigod—I have flat ears _and_ knobbly knees!"

"Elliot," Carla bursts, "you're missing the point here! I can't satisfy my fiancé! Turk is going to be _forever_ looking at other women!"

Doctor Cox approaches the nurses' station, and there's no way he could have missed the conversation. He glances at the two women as Elliot self-consciously pulls even more hair over her ears. "Carla, far be it from me to ever—and I do mean _ever_—defend your betrothed, because he repulses me to the point of actual, physical nausea—I mean there are days where I have to go sit down and put my head in between my knees for five minutes and breathe deeply _in _and _out _and _in _and _out _before I can continue on my grueling but oh-so-unrewarding day of facing some of the most annoying people on the face of the planet—but I _do_ have to tell you that if you think putting a little piece of gold on Gandhi's finger is going to stop his testosterone from surging through that domed, shiny head of his, you're even more delusional than I thought. Men like—no, make that _need_—to appreciate the female form, so even when yours is around he's _going_ to be looking at someone else's."

Doctor Cox picks up the chart that he wants and looks directly at Elliot, who stops fidgeting in a clear attempt to seem strong in from of him. He sneers. "I didn't mean yours, Barbie."

Then he's gone.

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Doctor Cox braces himself when he sees a smiling Bob Kelso approach him as he's looking at an X-ray on the light box at the nurses' station. When Kelso smiles, Cox knows there's nothing to be happy about.

"Doctor Cox!" Kelso greets him. "How _nice_ to see you working so diligently this morning. Anything fascinating happening in your world?"

"Actually, Bob, I'm quite interested in this little case that's presented itself to me, and I'd love to talk to you, but I have to give it my complete and total attention, _mmm_'kay?"

Kelso's smile remains firmly in place. "Your dedication to your job is admirable, Perry; that's the reason the residents look up to you so much," he says pleasantly.

"Is it?" Cox asks absently. "I always thought it was fear, not respect, and, quite frankly, that's the way I prefer it."

"Fear?" Kelso laughs. "Why, there's no reason for them to be _scared_ of you, Perry. You're an absolute pussycat." Suddenly his face turns to stone. "But I'm going to give _you _something to be scared of, Doctor Cox. Word is you're not spending enough time with the residents, and though I know you only took the position of Residency Director to further your career, forced upon the hospital by your completely tactless but absolutely icy ex-wife who sits on the board and who made sure you _got _this position in spite of all my attempts to the contrary, I'm not going to let you get away with it."

Cox turns off the light box and pulls down the X-ray, turning to Kelso with a sly smile and taking a swipe across his nose with his finger. "I really appreciate the way you're trying to win me over by taking swipes at Jordan that always sound _so_ pleasant and so accurate, Bob. _But_ I've got a nice pile of new admits that I have to look after, and when I've got them all snug in their wee little beds, I promise you I'll be back to following those sad-assed puppy dogs around again and wiping up after them when they pee on the carpet so nobody trips and breaks a leg, okay?"

"That's not good enough," Kelso says, his voice hard. "Having a large number of new admissions makes this the perfect time for you to be teaching those over-eager, overly-annoying students of yours. _Start_ taking the residents on rounds and teaching them how to avoid killing anyone and creating a legal disaster for this hospital, or I'll have your ass in a sling faster than you can say 'Who _was_ that masked man who didn't give a damn about my _excuses_?'"

Kelso turns and walks away, a smile returning to his face as though a swipe at someone was just what he needed to make his day. Doctor Cox shakes his head in anger and disbelief, and is about to shove the X-ray into a file when a voice from nearby says matter-of-factly, "I don't think the Lone Ranger ever said that."

Cox looks up to see the Janitor leaning on a mop. _"What?"_ he asks, irritated.

"The Lone Ranger. I don't think he ever said that—about the excuses. You know." He shrugs.

"What kind of imbecile _are_ you?" Cox growls before he walks away.

The Janitor shrugs, then knits his brow. "Of _course_," he says to himself. "The Lone Ranger _was_ the Masked Man. _He'd_ never say _that_! It'd be the innocent townspeople!" He slaps himself in the head. "He's right. Imbecile." He turns around, looking for Doctor Cox. "Sorry…" he calls quietly, hoping nobody else heard his mistake.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own Scrubs, or anyone on it. Darn.

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Doctor Cox stands resignedly, irritably, before a small group of people whom he reluctantly has to deal with every day, with his arms crossed in front of him. He glances at the patient at the foot of whose bed he stands and then raises his chin and gets a dangerous glint in his eye, warning his students he's about to ask them a question that one of them had damn well better get the right answer to.

"Mrs. McFarlane presented this morning with a sudden penetrating pain in her lower back. She's been vomiting, is nauseous and her blood pressure is low. She has hyperpigmentation covering a scar on her left leg, her elbows and her toes, and she's just _dying_ for another salty burrito from the cafeteria. What are we looking for here?—Nervous Guy."

JD prays silently as Doug Murphy bites his bottom lip. _Come on, Doug. Come on, Doug. Come on, Doug._

"Uhhh…"

Doctor Cox makes a buzzing sound not unlike the wrong-answer buzzer on _Jeopardy_. "Time's up, but thanks for playing," he says.

_Damn,_ thinks JD. _But wait! I'm __**great**__ at Jeopardy!_ He raises his hand.

"Emmy Lou!"

"What is Addison's Disease?"

Suddenly Alex Trebek is in the picture, standing at his podium while JD accepts the applause of the audience and a handshake from Doug standing beside him. "That's the first time I've ever seen anyone answer _every_ question on the _Jeopardy_ board there, Doctor Dorian," Trebek says. "Final Jeopardy may prove to be no trouble for you at all. And that topic will be… _Diff'rent Strokes_! We'll be back for this exciting conclusion to today's game in just a moment…" _No problem_, thinks JD. _What'choo talkin' 'bout, Willis?_

JD shakes himself back into Mrs. McFarlane's room when he hears Doctor Cox finishing asking his next question. "…treatment for an addisonian crisis is what, Barbie?"

Startled, Elliot quickly brings herself up to par. "Intravenous injections of hydrocortisone, saline and dextrose, and when she can take fluids and medications by mouth, the amount of hydrocortisone is decreased until a maintenance dose is achieved."

"And if aldotesterone is deficient we need to add what?—Nervous Guy, giving you another chance here."

Doug says in a small, nervous voice, "Fludrocortisone acetate?"

Doctor Cox smiles winningly and leans forward as though sharing a secret with his residents. "You know, folks, I think we might actually be able to save this one," he says with a quick jerk of his head toward their patient. "The fact that you've been able to answer my questions with only a hair's breadth of hesitation makes me so proud I could actually fall asleep."

_Wow,_ JD thinks.

"Final question, and the winner of this one gets the marvelous prize of showing up and doing this all again tomorrow: how did I actually _diagnose_ this exciting condition?"

_I have to get this one!_

"What is an ACTH stimulation test?" _Yes! _

Cox raises his eyebrows. "If you don't know, Lacy, then we've _all_ wasted the last three years."

"Oh, I _know_!" JD tries to explain hastily. "I just… watched a… _Jeopardy_ marathon last night on the Game Show Network and I guess I got kind of… caught up…"

Cox sneers distastefully and makes a noise like he's eaten something foul. "And in addition to that test…" he prompts, clearly avoiding looking at JD.

"Tests to determine if there are insufficient levels of cortisol and X-rays of the adrenal and pituitary glands," pipes up Elliot.

JD makes a double-buzzing "wrong" sound in his head and arches an eyebrow. _In the form of a question, Dr. Reid…_

"Uh-_huh_. Looks like you read this chart quite thoroughly this morning, Barbie," Cox says, in what JD jealously tells himself is the closest his mentor ever comes to praise.

"Oh—_no_," Elliot replies, with a quick breath of a laugh; "I just really like auto-immune diseases." At Cox's wince, she adds, "Oh—um—I don't think that came out right."

Doctor Cox sighs. "No, it never does." He regroups and then ends his consultation, dismissing the lot of them. "Get out of my sight."

Cox waves his way past the residents and back into the hall. Elliot chews her bottom lip. "Frick! I was doing so _great_, JD! Why do I keep doing that to myself?" she asks as they leave the room.

"I dunno. Hey, do you think Doctor Cox is going with a theme with me? First he called me Emmy Lou, and then he called me Lacy," JD says, not really paying attention to her. "Aren't they both country singers?"

"Could be," Elliot answers. "Or you could just be crazy. Get it?" she asks, laughing at her own in-joke. "Patsy Cline sang 'Crazy,' and she was a country singer. Ha!" She continues laughing. "I'm gonna go see what else I can find out about Mrs. McFarlane so Doctor Cox might forget about my embarrassing comment earlier. Bye, Patsy!" she calls, laughing, as she takes off down the hall.

"Great—now I've got _two_ of them doing it," JD mutters.

"Doing what, Wynonna?"

JD's eyes widen and he turns around to see the Janitor standing there, his brow furrowed in question.

"Make that three…"

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JD decides to take his life in his hands and approaches Doctor Cox as he spies him heading down the hall with some paperwork in his hands. "Doctor Cox!" he calls from behind.

Cox immediately speeds up, as though sensing that JD is doing the same. Unfortunately for him, he's not nearly as fast as his protégée. "If the hand you have raised in the air, poised to tap me on the back actually makes physical contact with my body, you _will_ learn the true meaning of the phrase, 'To the moon, Alice, to the moon!'" he throws over his shoulder as he continues moving.

JD smiles, knowing his mentor is kidding, and answers, playing along, "Aw, come on, Ralphie," and though inside he knows he's taking a huge chance, he watches as almost in slow motion his hand comes down and touches Doctor Cox's left shoulder.

Cox freezes at once and stiffens. He turns around and JD sees Doctor Cox dressed as Ralph the bus driver from _The Honeymooners_, complete with lunchbox in his hand and snarl of all snarls on his face. "You have just said the secret word, Newbie. You have just won a trip to the moon."

JD laughs as goofily as Ed Norton. "Sheesh. What a grouch."

"I'm serious, Newbie. From here on in, we are deadly enemies. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to see you, I don't want to have nothing to do with you. If you see me coming down the street, get on the other side."

"When you come down the street, there _ain't_ no other side!"

_Cue laugh track._ JD smiles, then shakes himself. _Too much Nick at Night_. Suddenly he's acutely aware of not Ralph Kramden, but Doctor Cox staring at him, and standing a might too close for comfort. "So help me, if this isn't the most earth-shattering thing you've ever said, I swear I'll hang you by your feet from the roof and peel off your shoes and socks till you're hanging on by that single toe, then I'll clip the nail off and get a family of killer ants to bite you until you're itching so bad you just _have_ to scratch, and when you bend your knee to reach your foot you'll just go plunging to the ground like a brick and when I hear the _splat_ I'll think, 'Yeah. That's my Newbie.'" Cox brings himself out of his long, breathless rant and fixes his stare once again on JD. _"And?"_

"Uh…" JD scrambles to think of something useful to say. "There was a bug on your back."

Cox, breathing heavily, continues to stare at JD, who squirms uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Finally, he turns away without saying anything and resumes his walk down the hall.

JD nearly folds in half in relief when he decides to do something else unsafe—he follows Cox. Unsure where this second death wish has come from, he nevertheless follows his instinct, staying at a safe distance and hiding behind trolleys, gurneys, and large nurses when he thinks he might be spotted.

Finally Cox stops outside the door of a patient's room and looks over the papers in his hands again. He heaves a heavy sigh and then heads inside. JD moves in a bit more, daringly, wanting to see what's happening.

"… all come up negative, Mr. Carter," Cox is saying when JD finally gets within earshot, silently praising his sneakers for their stealth. _You were given a good name, __**sneakers**__…. I __**sneaked**__ very well…. Or is that __**snuck**_"That's good news, and bad news. The good news is we can rule out a whole _bunch_ of stuff. The bad news is you're gonna have to put up with me a little longer."

JD can't hear the patient's response. He sees the young man's equally young wife's face turn concerned, and she asks something so softly that even Cox has to lean in to hear it. Something in the doctor's demeanor is bothering the resident, though, and he can't move away even when he knows his mentor is leaving the room and will undoubtedly spot him.

Cox glances at JD as he passes him near the door, pointedly ignoring him and continuing to the nurses' station to write on a chart and order some tests. JD comes up beside him.

"Doctor Cox, can I talk to you?" JD asks.

Cox doesn't stop writing. "It sounds like you can, Dolly. Anything else I can help you with?"

_Dolly! We __**are**__ on a country music theme! I __**loved**__ 'Islands in the Stream.'_ JD sings a bit of the song to himself, then realizes that he doesn't know how to ask Doctor Cox what's making him even more surly than usual. He struggles for the right words. "So, what's a got a bee in _your_ bonnet?" he asks with a casual laugh. _Ohmigod. What have I just done?_

This time Cox stops writing and looks straight at JD. "Are you still trying to tell me I have a bug on my back?" he asks.

_Whoops._

"Uh… no." A legitimate-sounding answer comes to mind. "I was just wondering how you made out with Mr. Carter. When we went on rounds you said we hadn't come up with a reason for his abdominal pain and nausea yet."

"That's right."

"Well… have we?"

"Nope," Cox answers shortly, turning back to his work.

"They're really sweet," JD observes. "She's been here all day. Won't even leave for lunch. How long have they been married, three months?"

"You'll have to check the newspaper clippings you keep of other people's weddings in your hope chest for the answer to that one," Cox answers.

"What are you going to do, then?" JD asks.

"More tests."

"Like what?"

"Did I miss the announcement about this being Question Time?" Cox finally bursts, exasperated. "Look, Newbie, if you want to do something constructive, wear a bell around your neck. That way I'll know when you're close by and I'll run the other way. Better yet," he says, shoving a chart in JD's chest, "take this down to X-Ray and tell them I'll be down there in ten minutes."

"But don't they usually—?"

"Don't care, Newbie," Cox cuts him off. "Just do it—and don't come back."

Then Cox once again disappears, leaving JD to do his bidding—or risk death for yet a third time. "Sheesh," he mutters, "what a grouch."


	5. Chapter 5

Nope, still don't own it. Wouldn't mind writing for it, but the WGA might have words with me, so I'll deal with it this way instead…

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Carla comes to the table at the cafeteria with a false air of nonchalance about her. She stands with her tray close to her body as she pushes a chair out of the way with her foot. "Hi, guys," she says, and, avoiding looking at anybody, she puts down her tray and sits and starts picking at her lunch. "Anything going on today?"

"Oh, _yeah_!" says Turk from beside her, his eyes wide. Carla's breasts are clearly large—larger than usual—and perky. Turk smiles covetously, impressed with whatever it is his fiancée did to make herself look so fine. JD shakes his head frantically, warning Turk not to say anything. Turk gets the hint and smiles nervously as Carla looks at him expectantly. "Uh—they're giving away extra pudding!"

"Really?" Elliot cries. "I _knew_ I shouldn't have gotten the sponge cake today."

"I was hoping tonight we could go look at the flower arrangements for the church," Carla says.

"Sure, baby. We can do that," Turk agrees, nodding. "I'm happy to look at the implants—" A wild look from JD and the beginning of a look from Carla highlights Turk's indiscretion. "Uh—plants."

Carla's eyes flash. "Fine," she says shortly. "Go get me a pudding."

"Yes, ma'am," Turk replies, and he takes off as quickly as possible.

Elliot drops her voice as though she's sharing a secret, and she smiles conspiratorially. "So, Carla, where did you get those boobs?"

Carla's eyebrows raise and she starts to look offended—a wee bit _too_ offended, JD thinks. "What are you talking about? These are the same breasts I've _always_ had."

"No, they're not," Elliot answers, shaking her head. "Those breasts are just… unreal!"

"You can say _that _again," JD snorts. He drops all expression from his face when Carla shoots him a death glare. _Darn. I thought I said that to myself._

"It's nothing permanent," Carla sniffs. "I just want to please Turk, that's all. If he likes big boobs, he's gonna get them." A beat. "From _me_."

"Carla, Turk isn't interested in your _breasts_," JD says, trying to be reassuring.

"He isn't?"

The indignant tone of Carla's voice leaves JD thinking he wasn't successful. "He's interested, but I mean it's not the _only_ part of you he's interested in." He feels better now as Carla resumes breathing. He looks at Elliot. "Hey, Elliot, have you ever considered implants?"

Elliot shakes her head. "No. I figure anyone who wants me is gonna get a handful anyway. Have you?"

JD answers before he has a chance to think. "Once."

The activity at the table stops as the others look at him strangely. "I mean—I've wondered if they'd look good on… I mean, I think you'd be really…" He falters as he realizes he's put himself in an impossible place yet again. "I think you look fine _just_ as you are," he announces finally. _But I can dream,_ he thinks, as he imagines Elliot kneeling in front of him on his bed, his eyes wide as she seems ready to just burst through a bra with breasts as big as full-sized melons.

"I agree. Although I was a late bloomer," Elliot says, warming up to a story. "So when I was in seventh grade I actually borrowed my best friend's big sister's bra and stuffed it full of tissues when I left for school." She shrugs. "The problem was I was also a big _sweat_er, so the tissues got wet and over the course of the day I just _deflated_ and then these little globs of wet tissue started falling out the bottom of my blouse, and there was a trail of them following me around the school…" Carla gulps and JD shrugs his shoulders as if to say he didn't have any idea this was going to come out of this conversation. "They started getting stuck to my shoes. Everyone started calling me Booba-Feet."

JD laughs uproariously at the perverted reference to _Star Wars_. Carla tries to hold it in but laughs anyway.

Noticing Elliot's hurt look, JD tries to bring things back to a more even keel. "I did that once," he says.

"You stuffed your friend's _bra_?" Carla asks, adjusting herself slightly and wiping her eyes.

"No—I mean I stuffed my pants because I wanted to be manlier, like my brother."

"Are you still doing that?" Elliot asks, giggling.

"Ha, ha," JD deadpans. He frowns. _I was sure I placed the socks strategically this morning…._

Turk returns and puts two puddings on Carla's tray. "For you, baby," he says ingratiatingly.

_Two?_ JD mouths to Turk, wondering if they really _were_ giving out extra pudding today.

_I bought 'em,_ Turk gestures back. He smiles intently at his bride-to-be, trying to force her to accept his earlier explanation.

"Thanks, baby," Carla says, favoring him with a smile.

"I don't understand what the big hang-up is over looks, anyway," JD continues. "I mean, a person should be judged on what they're like on the inside, not what they're like on the outside!" _Even if the outside is extraordinary,_ he thinks proudly of himself.

"That's right," Carla nods. "It shouldn't matter what size a woman's chest is; if she's good and kind and wonderful, then she should be considered just as beautiful as a woman with _big_ boobs." She looks meaningfully, reproachfully, at her fiancé.

"Absolutely!" Turk agrees, looking to JD, who gives him a clandestine wink and nod of approval. "I like your lovelies just the way they are, baby. Honestly. I wouldn't change a thing from the way they are right this very second."

JD tries to madly signal his best friend but ends up looking like he's swatting a fly. Turk continues self-righteously: "Believe me when I say this, baby: what I'm looking at is all I could ever want. I need nothing more or less than what you have. What you are right now is perfect for me."

Carla's satisfied look has disintegrated as Turk has spoken, and now she's about to burst into tears. "Isn't that a shame!" she exclaims, abruptly standing. "I'll make sure I get you a box of Kleenex for our honeymoon!"

And she's gone.

"What'd I do now?" Turk asks innocently. "I said she was fine as she was, didn't I, bro?"

"You did!" JD agrees. "Unfortunately, what she was… wasn't what she is."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

JD can see the Carters from where he is standing in the hallway. He's pretending to read a chart but he's really keeping an eye on the couple, who look so close and so in love. JD thinks it's sweet that they haven't let go of each other's hand; even when Mr. Carter's been asleep, Mrs. Carter hasn't let go.

Elliot comes up beside JD and follows his line of sight. "Aw, aren't they cute?" she declares. "I want someone to love me like that."

_Someone does,_ JD thinks. "What, you want to get sweaty palms from being latched onto all the time?" he says instead.

"No, silly, I mean how _close_ they are. Look at how much they care about each other!"

"They've been married for three months," JD tells her. "You'd think that would wear off by now."

"Don't let Carla hear you say that," Elliot warns him. "She expects the honeymoon to last forever."

"It might have a chance if she'd get off this thing about her breasts. What makes her think they're suddenly not good enough for Turk?" _They'd be good enough for me!_ His face gets serious—and spooked—when he realizes what he's thought. _Get outta there, dude; this is your best friend's fiancée, for Pete's sake! Think about other things. _JD suddenly pictures Carla's breasts, close up, the way he saw them at lunch time. His eyebrows shoot straight up to his hairline when he realizes that his attempts to distract himself have led to even worse results. _Not __**those**__ things! Old men golfing, old men golfing, old men golfing…eugh…_

"Carla and Turk are getting married soon, and she wants everything to be perfect for him. Little passing comments or roving eyes can have a big impact on someone." Elliot suddenly feels self-conscious and starts tugging at her ears.

JD gives her a questioning look. "What are you doing?"

"Uh—nothing. Nothing." She tries to cover her ears with her hair and gulps. "It's just that Doctor Cox said I had flat little ears."

"So?"

"_So_, I hate that!"

"Would you rather have Howdy Doody ears?" JD asks. Suddenly he can see Elliot as a red-haired, freckled, buck-toothed cowgirl with a checkered flannel shirt and a bandanna around her neck. "Oh-ho-ho, howdy doody!" she exclaims, as her big ears wiggle on either side of her head. JD can mysteriously hear lively banjo music playing in the background. Elliot smiles widely. "Kawabonga!"

JD shakes his head, concerned about his foray into this particular part of Dreamland.

"No, of course I don't want that," she says.

"It's just what we were talking about with Carla," JD points out to her. "Random comments people make can really mess with your mind."

"They sure can. I mean, look at what's happening with Mr. Griffith. I haven't got the faintest idea about what's happening to him. I mean, he's old, but it's only when Mrs. Griffith is talking about having se—aww, look at them!" Elliot sighs, as Mrs. Carter bends down to give her husband a gentle kiss. "I wonder what they're saying."

"_You'll_ never know," JD chuckles. "Not with those flat little ears you've got."

Elliot gasps and covers her ears again. "Frick!"

A voice from behind startles them both. "You two have nothing better to do than to eavesdrop on the sick people?"

Elliot immediately starts playing with her hair before she spins on her heel and takes off.

"I was just telling Elliot how nice it is to see people so close," JD tells Cox.

"If you want close, get into the smallest elevator you can find with a great big lady named Mabel and her two Great Danes." He jerks his chin toward the Carters' room. "_Those_ two are just in lust."

"They're newlyweds—they're in love!" JD protests. "They're totally devoted to each other."

"Sure. And in another six months or less when the tint comes off their rose-colored glasses, they'll realize that 'till death do us part' isn't so much a _promise_ as a _goal_." Cox moves past JD, bumping him harshly in the shoulder as he moves into the Carters' room. JD follows but waits in the doorway.

"I've just come back from X-ray," Doctor Cox says to the couple, and JD is amazed at how Cox can change his whole demeanor in seconds. He's patient, even gentle. "The results aren't as clear as I'd like them to be so I've gone ahead and booked you in for a couple of scans—a CT scan, which you might have heard of before, and a PET scan, which you might _not_ have."

"What _is _that?" asks Mrs. Carter, and JD watches as her hand grips her husband's just a little bit harder.

"We inject a bit of radionuclide glucose into your husband's vein and then use a machine to see just where glucose is being used in his body."

"Is that dangerous?"

"No. It's perfectly safe. But I'd like to get these done right away."

"What are you looking for?" Mr. Carter asks.

JD purses his lips and watches Doctor Cox carefully. He wonders what his mentor will say, how he will cushion the truth. No one ever wants to admit the truth, especially when it's bad news, and JD knows that PET scans don't usually point to good news.

"I'm looking for cancer."

JD turns and leaves the room. Some people never learn that fuzzy, feel-good language that so many people have mastered.

He wonders if that's a good thing.


	6. Chapter 6

I own nothing. _Scrubs_ is owned by people with more talent than me, even though the WGA is making that fairly UNobvious at the moment…

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"I've run every test I can think of on Mr. Griffith," Elliot laments to Carla. "I'm going to have to discharge him if I can't find anything."

"How did he end up here in the first place?" Carla asks.

"He and Mrs. Griffith were driving home from the movies when he fell asleep at the wheel and drove into a pole."

"Wow."

"The thing is, it was a matinee, and he'd had a really good night's sleep the night before."

Dr. Kelso comes up to the nurses' station and hands Carla a file that he's been working on. Then he picks up another one as he looks at Elliot. "Movies just aren't what they used to be in the old days," he observes. "_Casablanca. Some Like It Hot. I Was a Teenage Werewolf…_ those were the days."

"You and your wife used to go to the movies a lot, Doctor Kelso?" Carla asks with a smile.

"Sure did!" Kelso says as his eyes light up. "I'd tell Enid to get all gussied up and we'd head out to the drive-in and have ourselves a real time…." His eyes narrow as he remembers. "I'd find us a place to park with a good view of the screen, and then I'd head out to the snack bar for a hot dog and some popcorn…. When I'd given Enid enough time to fall asleep, I'd come back to the car, turn her face toward the window so her snoring wouldn't interfere with the radio and just sit back and enjoy…." Kelso smiles contentedly. "I'd love to do that again some time…."

"Doctor Kelso, you're the Chief of Medicine—" Elliot begins.

"Glad to see you recognize that, Doctor Reid," Kelso answers.

"I'm having trouble with my patient," Elliot continues, undeterred. "He's seventy-five years old, and I've run every test in the world on him but I can't figure out why he keeps falling asleep whenever his wife starts talking about doing—" She suddenly gets shy around her boss—"the wild thing."

Doctor Kelso looks at Elliot and smiles tolerantly. "Making it perfectly clear you've never been married," he replies. "Good day, ladies."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

"Baby, let's just chill out tonight, huh? We can grab a pizza, relax… maybe get down and romantic…"

But Carla turns away from Turk, unwilling to forget lunchtime's mishap. She bends down behind the counter and stores some files there.

"Come on, baby, you know there's no one I'd rather be with than you, and no _body_ I'd rather be next to than yours," Turk says, trying to be sweet.

Carla reappears, a box of tissues in her hand. She thrusts them at her fiancé. "I think _this_ is the body you're referring to," she declares downheartedly, and she quickly walks away.

"What the—I didn't even do anything wrong this time, sweetie! And believe me," he calls after her, "I've done some pretty dumb things. So I should know!"

His entreaty falls on deaf ears, though, and he's left alone. Doctor Cox appears, glances at the box of tissues, and already knows what happened. He didn't have to actually _be_ in the cafeteria to have his spies. "Crying in the chapel, Gandhi?" he comments.

Turk frowns and lightly punches the box of tissues. "Man, I don't get it. Doctor Cox, I've never shown anything but respect and admiration for Carla's body, and she's all hung up about it!" he explains, exasperated and confused.

"That might be because you've also shown respect and admiration for _other women's_ bodies," Cox replies.

"I can't help that—I've got _eyes_!"

"Exactly. But women don't expect you to use them. And if you use them, they don't expect to know about it." Cox puts down the chart he'd been looking at and squares off before Turk. "Look, Gandhi, I really hate the whole walk-down-the-aisle-with-stars-in-your-eyes thing that almost everyone seems to get caught up in at least once in their lives, and if they're lucky then they eventually get free of it forever, and if not forever, then, like me, they'll end up back with that person they loathe the most in this world, have her move back in with them and then relive the horror of that time _over_ and _over_ again—but let me sell it to you straight: you've got a bride-to-be who for God knows what reason would walk five hundred miles for you just so you wouldn't go without your favorite pancake syrup for breakfast. Right now she's nervous and antsy and all feminine-_boo-hoo-hoo_ about anything even remotely resembling a touching moment, and she's sensitive about anything and _everything_ connected to getting married, and her own body in particular. But I'll let you in on a little secret here, Gandhi: what she's _really _worried about is being good enough for _you_. Isn't _that_ a kick in the groin, because when it comes right down to it, _you_ should be worrying about that, not her. You can look at every female that comes through here and make as many lewd comments as you like, but you've already got one fine lady on your arm, and if you make her doubt the least little thing about herself, I'm gonna smack you so hard you'll forget who you are and then steal her away before you have a chance to get your memory back."

Turk just blinks, trying to take everything in. Slowly he processes everything Cox has said and realizes that the Doctor is serious about his threat to steal Carla. He also realizes that he's just been given some good advice from someone whom Carla trusts, and who cares about her enough not to make a move if Turk can get himself together long enough to do the right thing himself. He nods slowly. "I hear you, Doctor Cox," he says simply. "And I promise you you'll never get that chance."

Cox's eyes challenge Turk, but he nods seriously and says, "I'd better not."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Doctor Cox finds Carla in the staff lounge on her own, sniffling occasionally and heaving some heavy sighs. For just a moment he stands behind her, unwilling to be discovered. Then he decides to come in and sits very close to her, putting his feet up on the coffee table and resting his hands in his lap. "The TV works better when it's on," he announces.

Carla just sniffs and nods. She doesn't say anything.

"I'd have thought you'd have to be fighting off Laverne for the couch at this time of day—_Days of Our Lives_ is supposed to start any minute," he says.

"There's a special on today; it won't be on," Carla says.

She sounds miserable, Cox notes. "Look, Carla…" he begins. Then he trails off. Why is he getting involved in this, anyway? Carla snuffles again. Cox shrugs mentally. He knows why: he wants Carla to be happy, and even if that means throwing her into Gandhi's arms while he's stuck in a love-hate—mainly hate—relationship with his ex-wife Jordan, he wants her to have what she deserves. Hell, there haven't been many people willing to ignore the brash exterior he wears, not for long, anyway, and he can count on one hand the number of people he could call close friends. He's not sure even Carla can count as one of those, but something about her always makes him begrudgingly human.

So he tries again. "I hear you've been getting up close and personal with Kleenex-brand tissues. You _do_ know you have to take them out of the box first, right?"

Carla takes a shaky breath as she lets out a tiny bark of a laugh. If it wasn't so sad, it could be funny.

"You know you don't have to do anything crazy to get Gandhi's attention. You've already got it."

"Oh, yeah?" Carla asks, her voice wavering, and unconvinced. "Then how come his eyes are always wandering over to someone else's chest? If he's like this now, what's going to happen when we're _married_?"

Cox smiles gently. He feels sorry for her, but it's time to set her straight. "Carla, putting a ring on a man's finger doesn't make him blind." Carla nods unhappily. "Is that what you were expecting?"

"No," Carla answers defensively, knowing she's just given herself away. She fidgets with the tissue in her hands.

Cox feels compelled to elaborate. "Look. Carla. The ring isn't there for his eyes. It's there for his heart."

Carla sniffs and then questions this, her guarded, unemotional friend, with her eyes.

"You don't have to worry about your man looking at another woman," Cox says. "That's just part of a man's make-up; it's at the very essence of who he is. But a man who's willing to put a ring on your finger is saying that no matter what your physical attributes are, that you're exactly what he wants. And unlike a woman, he won't keep trying to change his spouse and make her dress differently or talk more nicely to the old curmudgeon who lives next door. And he won't handcuff her to the shower door while he pistol-whips her backside until she's bleeding and begging for mercy before he drags her by the short and curlies into the bedroom to make her wipe down the curtains before making her his sex slave…"

Carla shoots Doctor Cox an alarmed look, which he responds to by shifting on his seat as though physically uncomfortable and clearing his throat. "But I digress," he says. "What I'm trying to say is that if an honest man gives you a ring and says he wants to marry ya, he's telling you that he loves you from the inside out, and no one he looks at could ever match that kind of beauty. And no matter how much of a domineering pain the ass you can be, Carla, there's one thing that's never been in doubt: you're really beautiful. And that has as much to do with what's inside as what's outside. Even though outside is nothing to sneeze at, either."

Carla takes all this in, wishing to God that Perry would let other people see this soft side of him more often so he could get the emotional security that he needs—and deserves. Aware of the conflicting emotions within him, and even more touched by the fact that he's defending someone she knows he doesn't really approve of and at one time considered competing with, Carla says quietly, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The guard's back up, Carla realizes by his detached tone of voice. She pauses a second, then asks brightly, "So you think Turk really loves me for who I am inside?"

"Yep," Cox replies, staring straight ahead. He says, honestly, "He'd be an idiot not to."

They sit in silence for a moment. "And you think it's okay for me to wear a sweat shirt around the house on my day off?"

"Make it a tight one."

"Right."


	7. Chapter 7

Nope, Scrubs isn't mine.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_Sometimes, you have to face your fears and just come right out and say what you mean, even when it's not easy to do. _

"Mr. Griffith, I wanted to talk with you while your wife wasn't here because I think you're uncomfortable talking in front of her," Elliot begins. She waits nervously for her patient to agree, then starts to breathe again when he nods, slowly. "Does she… know that you aren't really falling asleep whenever she talks about sex?"

_The most obvious answer can be right in front of you, but you've been avoiding it because you don't think life can be that simple._

"Mr. Griffith, if you don't talk to your wife about your problem, you're going to ruin your marriage—or kill yourself."

_And sometimes, it's the undisguised truth from one person that finally gets someone else to let down his barriers. _

"I drove as slowly as I could when I went off the road," the elderly gentleman says shamefully. Then, quietly: "Does Beryl know?"

"No," Elliot answers softly, disappointed at being right, and relieved at the same time.

The man covers his face with his hands. "How can you tell a woman you adore that you just can't do this any more? I'd rather do anything but shame her… and I thought, if she thought it was a medical thing…"

"It _is_, Mr. Griffith," Elliot says gently. "It's just not physical medicine, that's all. I'll get you someone to talk to. Someone you can trust."

Elliot is unaware that Doctor Cox is watching her from outside the room. He nods once, satisfied that she has finally listened, and then turns and walks away from her, past the nurses' station, where Turk is getting Carla to finally look him in the eye.

_Even though you've told the truth over and over and over again, every now and then it just takes one more time for it to finally sink in._

"Baby," Turk says, taking Carla's hands, "baby, I know my eyes wander around, and I know that hurts you because you want to make things really perfect between us." Carla nods once, her eyes already tearing up. "I've always appreciated beauty, baby; that's one of the reasons I love you so much. But no matter who I look at, baby, the only one I could ever want to be with is you." Carla swallows hard but says nothing. "Carla, you're perfect just the way you are. I promise you that I will never stop trying to become even remotely deserving of the love you show me every single day." Turk once again looks deeply into Carla's eyes. "I love you, baby. You are one fine lady, and I'm gonna do everything I can to make sure you don't ever doubt that for a single second." He pauses as he sees Doctor Cox out of the corner of his eye, looking at a picture on the lightbox. "Ever."

Carla beams. Then she hugs Turk tightly and they walk away happily.

_And it can take just one careless comment to totally turn someone's opinion of herself around._

Doctor Cox continues to study the picture on the lightbox, then looks back to a report spread on the desk. Elliot walks by.

"Nice work there, Barbie," Cox says without looking up, stopping her in her tracks.

"Uh—what?"

"I said nice work with your sleep guy," Cox says, pausing in his study. "It was gutsy to tell him what you thought. You listened. Your big ears finally heard all the clues he was giving you and you used them to come up with the right answer. Well done."

"My big—uh… thanks." Elliot shakes her head so her hair moves away from her ears. "Thanks," she says again, and with a huge smile, she strides down the hall toward the elevator.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

_As much as we want to hide behind soft words that won't make doctors seem so much like Grim Reapers, sometimes the only thing we can do is tell the whole, ugly truth._

Doctor Cox struggles to maintain a steady and professional voice as he looks at the young man and his oh-so-newlywed wife standing by his bedside, clutching his hand. Doing his best to suppress a sigh and a look that says he's been defeated, Cox says, "We've found cancer."

JD turns and walks away from the window as he sees the young woman start to crumble and he hears the sounds of disbelief that he knows will be echoing in his mentor's brain for days to come.

Lost in thought, he is startled when Turk comes up beside him, his arm wrapped around Carla. "Hey, Vanilla Bear, we're gonna go get some Chinese tonight and then crash with _The Breakfast Club_, _Pretty in Pink _and _Sixteen Candles_. Are you in?"

"A Molly Ringwald triple feature?" JD asks, his mood already lifting.

"You said it, man."

"But I thought Carla didn't like Molly Ringwald," JD says.

Carla shrugs. "She's got nothing on me. And not too much on _her_!" she laughs. Turk smiles.

"And are you talking about the restaurant where we got to take the fans off the wall and do a conga through the kitchen?"

Turk smiles again, unashamedly enjoying the memory of doing a fan dance all around the fish tank once the conga was finished. "Yeah, that's the place."

JD looks back toward the room where Doctor Cox is still facing his patient, answering questions even as his chin drops lower and lower to his chest. He'd wanted a different outcome for these people, JD knew. He looks back at Turk and shakes his head. "No thanks, Chocolate Bear," he says, lost in his own thoughts. "I've got a… couple of things to take care of here."

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

As JD comes up beside Doctor Cox, the senior doctor doesn't even look up from the chart on which he's scribbling as he says, "If you think you're doing me a big favor by staying behind and walking me home tonight, Reba, you're not."

JD flexes his shoulders, a gesture he makes when he's been caught out and is trying to think of a great comeback. Unfortunately, the gesture fails him and he can only think to say, "I needed to get a pen." He stretches past Doctor Cox and to the lower section of the nurses' station in search of a writing instrument, practically bowling over Cox in the process but coming up empty-handed.

Cox lets out an exasperated breath and pulls an extra pen out of his white coat pocket. "Here," he says irritably. "Now scram, Newbie."

JD hesitates, then takes the offering, only then realizing that he has nothing to write on. He should have thought that one out a little better, he thinks belatedly. Still, he can't just go. "Doctor Cox—"

Now, his reluctant mentor turns and stares him right in the eye. JD swallows uncomfortably, but something about what he saw earlier makes him strong enough to say, "I know you wanted a different outcome for the Carters," he says. "You know, about the cancer."

"No different to the way I feel when I give anyone else that kind of news," Cox replies gruffly.

"Not this time, Doctor Cox," JD presses. "You think they're too young to have to deal with something this hard. You pretend to be all put off by that kind of love stuff, but it gets to_ you_, _too_, doesn't it?" He swallows. "Look, you're a great doctor, Doctor Cox, and you'll find a way to get them through it; I know you will."

Cox's face changes in the light of JD's confidence in him. "You really think so?" he asks.

JD nods. "Yes, sir, Doctor Cox. I sure do."

Cox smiles and his face transforms. "Thanks for that, Newbie. It makes all the difference in the world. Give me a hug."

And JD smiles and closes his eyes as the one dream he's always had—that his mentor will see him as a son, as a comfort, as a help—comes true.

Right before he hears the fine Doctor Cox singing under his breath: "That don't impress me much…"

JD frowns and shakes himself into reality, ruefully discovering that the dream come true was just that—a dream. He blinks back at Cox questioningly.

"Did you have another fairy tale to tell me, Shania? Or am I supposed to stand here all night waiting for you to tell me what color you plan to paint your nails when you and your friends get together for that girls' weekend you've been promising yourself for oh-so-very long?"

JD registers the intent look on Cox's face—the one he puts on when he's stretched to his limit and could explode at any moment—and replies, "Well, actually, I don't like manicures. I like pedicures, but it was hard to get used to the idea of someone touching my feet. I'm kinda ticklish."

Cox's faces screws up till he looks like he's in excruciating pain. "Now tell me, Miranda, _why_ did you think I needed to know that about you? Oh, _geez_, the stuff I have to hear about! Your mother and I are _so_ disappointed that you didn't get in the _pep squad_, and now you tell us you don't want anyone to do your _nails_!" Cox turns and shakes his head as he walks away, continuing to rant as he disappears. "I'm gonna have to drink all night _just_ to get that image out of my head… and what a picture it is! Oh, _God_, what have I done to deserve this?"

JD watches his mentor's retreating figure and can't help but smile. _Sometimes it's okay when people talk in their own foreign languages…. As long as you can speak it, too, you'll find it's a pretty neat, special way of connecting with someone who may be really hard to get close to if you try the conventional way._

Cox reappears from around the corner. He comes up to JD and faces him squarely in the deserted hallway. "I know why you stayed, Newbie," he says roughly. JD can tell this is hard for him to say. He waits silently. "Thanks."

JD's fear melts into quiet understanding. "No problem."

"Now get outta here; your girlfriends are waiting." Doctor Cox turns away again and heads back down the hall toward the elevator. Suddenly he stops and calls over his shoulder, "For the record, Lucy, I think a nice shade of coral would look just dandy on you."

JD smiles almost smugly, feeling here he has the upper hand. "Oh, no," he answers, as if Cox was kidding around with him; "coral makes me look jaundiced. I need more of a pink-y kind of shade so I don't look so sallow. It accentuates my summer coloring."

Doctor Cox's shoulders creep up around his neck and he shivers once. "I don't even want to _know_ how you know that kind of thing," he retorts. Then he turns and looks JD in the eye. "And, again, just for the record here: if you show up tomorrow with your nails anything other than their usual pale and bitten selves, I'll bust you back to cheerleader right before I make Nervous Guy take all the polish off with turpentine and shove your pompoms so deeply up your girly behind that you're left choking on the handles. Got it?"

JD sees Doctor Cox differently now. His mentor is saying, "Summer—yes, you _are_ like a warm, caressing summer breeze, Newbie. And I know that you'll do everything you can to keep this one moment of my own weakness a secret, just between the two of us. Thank you for being not just a resident, but my friend."

Unfortunately, that's all in JD's head, and his mentor's eyebrows have knitted together as his blue eyes actually impale JD while he reluctantly searches for the whereabouts of the younger doctor's brain.

"_Got it_, Mariah?"

"_She's_ not a country singer!" JD protests.

Cox's eyes run like cold water down a river. "I've run out. Which just proves I've spent _way_ too much time with you today. Would you like me to come up with _another_ name for you, Allison?"

JD shakes his head, suddenly fearful. "No," he answers blandly. Inside, he actually feels better. _Back to our own private language._

"So _got it?_"

"Got it."

JD's nervous smile threatens to morph into a girlish giggle. Cox seems to know this instinctively and leaves before he has a chance to hear it. He pushes the button for the elevator and glances over at JD. "See you in the morning," Cox says, his voice soft, and somehow, JD senses, sincerely pleased about it.

"First thing, Doctor Cox!" JD calls brightly as Cox disappears into the elevator. "I'll be here!"

The doors close and JD lets his thoughts drift to translating his exchange with Doctor Cox into his version of reality. He frowns and looks at his fingers critically. "I really have to stop biting my nails..." he decides, then he heads down the hall to see if he can still catch up with his friends before they start their Chinese conga line without him. Maybe this time, _he_ can do the fan dance around the fish tank.

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Hope you enjoyed this last installment. It was sure fun writing it. And thanks for letting me share in the _Scrubs_ community!


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